With a face radiant with joy and affection, the king would sit beside the deer, his heart softened by gentle love for the creature. Time moved on, and eventually, the king reached the end of his life. In his final moments, as his gaze lingered upon the deer, he too relinquished his mortal body. Because he remembered his previous birth, his mind was troubled by the world, O best of the twice-born. In his next existence, he sustained himself on dry grass and leaves, living a simple and austere life. When that body was finally cast aside, he was born again as a twice-born, blessed with the memory of his earlier life. He was endowed with all knowledge, understanding the true essence of the scriptures. By his own realization, O great sage, he knew both the beginning and the end of all things. Although he underwent the sacred initiation, he did not recite the teachings imparted by his guru. Even when addressed repeatedly, he replied only with a few dull words, showing little interest in worldly matters. This sage, too, possessed a misshapen body and wore soiled garments. He understood that honor brings great harm to the power of yoga; therefore, a yogi should act without compromising the dharma of the virtuous. Reflecting deeply on the words of Hiranyagarbha, the great-minded one lived a life of restraint. He ate coarse grain cakes, vegetables, wild fruits, and seeds. After his father passed away, he lived among his brothers, cousins, and relatives. His limbs were rough and swollen, and he moved sluggishly in his tasks. Lacking proper refinement, he behaved in ways not befitting a Brahmin. Once, that king, seated upon a palanquin, resolved to depart, O Brahmin. He pondered, "What is the highest good in this world, which is mostly filled with suffering for people?" Following the words of his attendant, he carried the palanquin himself. The Brahmin, the sole vessel of all knowledge, was seized for this task as a palanquin-bearer. He walked with a sluggish gait, glancing only briefly at his surroundings. The king noticed the unsteady movement of the palanquin and, seeing it again, laughed. The other palanquin-bearers remarked, "He is proceeding, but not swiftly." They questioned him, "Why do you not endure the effort? You are neither stout nor do you appear strong." The Brahmin replied, "I am not tired, nor is there any strain; there is no other carrier, O king." He explained, "Indeed, fatigue and burden in carrying arise for embodied beings. To say someone is strong or weak is merely a distinction made afterwards. Even that is not truly real; but, sir, listen to my words. The thighs and the two shanks are the supports, as is the abdomen. This palanquin is borne by the shoulders; what part do I play as its bearer?" He continued, "If it is said that you and I are both present here, then this must be understood differently. All beings, caught in the current of qualities, proceed in this way. Because of ignorance and accumulated actions, countless beings are bound in this manner. Increase and decrease do not occur in the same way for all beings." "But you are childish; by what reasoning have you spoken thus? When this palanquin is on your shoulder, then the burden is entirely yours—whether it is made of mountain, tree, or house, or even if it arises from the earth.